


Defensive

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Holmes! What did you do to Gladstone?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Defensive

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kinkmeme [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/shkinkmeme/6327.html?thread=11831223#t11831223): _I'm asking for Gladstone H/C._

Holmes catches a quick movement at the edge of vision, low to the ground, blurred, coming right at him, and he reacts without more than a single thought of _defense_. He lashes out with his foot and feels it connect solidly.

There's a high pitched yelp, and then the smallish brown and white pile of fur is running away, wailing like a small, obnoxious child. Watson looks up sharply.

"Holmes! What did you do to Gladstone?"

"I did nothing!" is Holmes' automatic response, and he grimaces at his mouth's tendency to run on without his consent. "I mean–"

It's too late. Watson glares at him and reaches down to the puppy huddled behind his legs, trying to squeeze itself into the tiny space left under the desk. "I realize I may have made a mistake bringing a puppy into contact with you, but really, Holmes, at least attempt to act like a human being around it!"

He looks almost more disappointed than angry.

Holmes frowns. "Well, that's what _happens_ when it insists on getting underfoot."

"He was coming to greet you! He likes you, heaven knows why."

That stings. And really, he hadn't _meant_ to hurt it. He just sees things coming for his ankles and remembers that wretched little terrier and _reacts_.

He sighs and walks to where the puppy is cowering; crouches down and puts out a hand in apology. "Come on now, I didn't mean. Don't sulk."

Watson pinches the bridge of his nose. "Holmes. It's a _puppy_. He doesn't understand you."

Indeed it doesn't, because it's still pressed up against Watson's legs, trembling and making small, high pitched whimpers, like it's been terribly wounded. Watson reaches down and scoops it up, settles it on his lap and pets it gently. It doesn't stop trembling, but it burrows into his lap like it's still trying to hide.

Holmes reaches up, lays a hand on its head. The short, fine hairs are soft, dense, like velvet. He strokes it, slides a hand under its muzzle and lifts its head to look at him.

"I am sorry," he says.

Large brown eyes blink at him, and then the puppy stops trembling. Opens its mouth wide to show off tiny white teeth and a ridiculously pink tongue, and yawns.

Holmes sits back on his heels, and Watson laughs.


End file.
